The Three Day War
by Exilo
Summary: In the hot jungles of Vietnam, America is fighting an unpopular war against an enemy no one wants to fight. They believe the VC is the worse they'll have to deal with. They're wrong. R&R please. Short story in three parts.
1. Day One

_**Day One**_

The jungles of Vietnam were hot. More than the booby trapped fruit, more than the shit covered Punji sticks, more than Charlie camping out in the trees, Sergeant Bach hated the heat. Born in Munich, Germany, and spending a vast majority of his early life there, he had never had to deal with heat. After his mother died, he emigrated to the United States, and in gratitude for his new home, he had enlisted in the army. Some would say war was in his blood, though he didn't like when people said that. It didn't matter much. He was here now, fighting Charlie so that South Vietnam could stay free. Every day, he patrolled through the jungles outside of the camp and hunted Charlie down in his foxholes.

Bach was the commander of the third platoon. He had gotten to that position through blood and sweat, and the people under him still hated him more than they did Charlie. To them, Charlie was an animal. Bach was a monster. All because someone had snuck in and read Bach's personal file, and spread all his dirty little secrets to the others. No one said anything, but it was there all the same. O'Donnell had a bag full of scalps, Phil had collection of ears, and Tedrow just liked shooting people. But Bach was the monster.

Maybe he really was. Because, the more he fought, the more he came to enjoy the fighting. That's why he was in his third tour, and while everyone else counted down the days to when they'd be able to kiss the jungles behind and have a cold beer in their favorite pub back at the states, Bach hoped the war would last long enough for him to go for a fourth tour, if that was even legal. He was born into war. He would probably die here. If not here, he would die in some other place. If the war came to an end, he would find another war somewhere else. Humanity never had a shortage of conflicts. And in that new squad, he would make sure that no one found out about what he was. Or find a platoon who just didn't care, somewhere deep inside Europe or Africa.

When they reached the stream four klicks outside of Firebase Echo, Bach lifted his hand in a show of the squad to stop. They may not have liked him, they may not have even respected him, but they did as he ordered. Bach had a reputation as an efficient leader. The base's captain had him go out, as much because the captain didn't want to be in the line of sight as they knew Bach could lead with some competence. The men cared about surviving. They could survive with Bach.

The platoon spread behind trees and pressed onto the earth, covering themselves with makeshift tarps. Tedrow took up a perch in one of the trees. He could climb like a monkey when he had to, and straddled a branch, adjusting his M-16 to his eye and waiting.

Setting up the claymores fell to Bach. No one else would do it. They wanted to be behind cover as much as possible. Bach didn't care. He wouldn't put his trust in the grunts. And besides, Charlie's patrol wouldn't be for another two hours. He had plenty of time to lay his traps, before moving to his position. Bach was the squad's heavy gunner, and so used an M60 in conjunction with Roger, who fed the belt into the machine. He lay flat on the floor, in the plants and grass, and waited for the enemy to come down the trail that had been beaten. Fox, who was in charge of reconnaissance, had noticed this trail a week ago, and spent the next five days watching it. The VC used this trail to transport weapons from a base the platoon hadn't discovered yet, and funnel them into Cambodia. Charlie had been quiet as of late, not touching the firebase, not razing any friendly towns. Bach assumed they were either focusing on an offensive in Cambodia, or preparing to raze Firebase Echo when they had the manpower and weapons. So it was up to Bach to play interference.

An hour passed. Charlie came through this trail every week, a different day but the same time: when the air was at its coolest (which wasn't very cool). But the Viet Cong needed to travel long distances, and even if they had the endurance, their beasts of burden didn't. Besides, they figured the Americans were fat slobs who wouldn't take any real action. Bach smiled slightly. Shit for them.

It was after two hours that Bach started to get a little antsy. So did his squad, but not one of them would pass their head out of cover unless he did it first. Besides, soon enough, Charlie came through all the same.

The only problem was, it wasn't a convoy, or a platoon. It was three lone Viet Congs, running and shouting through the woods and over the trail. A quick glance at them showed only one was armed with their beloved AK-47. The other ones weren't carrying anything substantial. Sure, there were pistols on their belts and knives in their boots, but nothing real, which struck Bach as odd. Of course, there were other tactics for the VC to use. There had been one story of them strapping children with a dozen sticks of dynamite and sending them towards a marine position. The fuses were set to go off just when the children reached inside the base. Of course, then in the second attack, the children wouldn't have anything strapped to them, and the marine who thought he was saving his comrades would face the horror that he had just shot a four year old through the head for no reason. It occurred to Bach that this might have been a similar trick. Those three Viet Cong might be strapped with explosives. If anyone came out of cover to capture them, the Viet Cong would set off their grenades and blow themselves and the poor fool to smithereens. Or these three men may been a decoy. Their death was almost assured, but if Bach and his men opened fire, some Viet Cong snipers in the trees would see the muzzle flash and know where to shoot.

The problem was solved when the Viet Cong set off the tripwires. The claymores that lay in front of them exploded. Charlie was a little fuck and a bitch to kill, but even he couldn't stand up to two pounds of plastique and seven hundred ball bearings. Multiply that by three, and you had what killed the three enemies. Overkill, but Bach had honestly been expecting a whole caravan. That did not excuse the possibility of snipers, but Bach's instincts said this was something else. He stood up and approached the bodies. After a few minutes of no shooting, his platoon rose and joined him in looking over the bodies.

"They got any supplies?" Bach asked.

Roger plucked the AK-47 from the mangled corpse of the body. The stock had been destroyed in the blast, but he managed to lift it and fire off a few shots. "God damn, these things are indestructible. Why the fuck don't we have guns like this? The fucking M-16, self cleaning my ass."

"You're free to carry whatever you want," Bach said. "But I can tell a rifle by its sound. And if I hear an AK going off in our ranks I'm likely to think it's one of the VC monkeys. I'm going to stop it if no one else does."

His soldiers didn't like him, and he didn't like his soldiers. It had worked out so far.

"Something not right," Francis said. "These guys don't have any explosives, any extra ammunition, no extra weapons. They weren't runners, they weren't trappers, they sure as hell weren't scouts with how they were screaming. So what does that mean?"

"It means you and O'Donnell are coming with me."

"Why me?" O'Donnell grumbled.

"Because there might be some scalps to collect, you sick fuck. Now come on."

Bach had really picked O'Donnell because, even for his twisted collection, he was one of the few who actually believed America was doing something good here. That was something that was even lost on Bach by now. Bach believed in America, but if he had to be honest, he was here for the thrill of the kill and no other reason. He brought Francis because Francis didn't care about that blasted personnel file that Private Begin had stumbled upon and shown to everyone.

It was a four hour walk through the hot jungle until they reached the Viet Cong camp. Or perhaps it was a Vietnamese town. It was never easy to tell. But there were wooden houses and shacks, farming area, pens for wildlife. But there wasn't one living thing as far as Bach could tell. He lowered his binoculars, traded his M60 for the M-16 assault rifle that O'Donnell carried, ordered both to provide covering fire should the need arrive, before heading into the town alone.

At first, he sought a stealthy approach. He entered the town from a flank instead of down one of the roads, and stayed behind buildings or in the trees, but soon enough he found that there was little purpose. The town was completely empty.

XXX

"Three Viet Cong dead, sir," Bach said, standing before Colonel Scott.

"Only three? Usually you take out twenty or thirty when you go on patrol. And the men mentioned you went on reconnaissance to a VC town?"

"Something like that, sir."

"Care to explain? This is going in the official report after all."

Bach spent a moment rubbing his eyes. "I…I don't even know where to begin. Fox had been monitoring VC movement. There was activity we were supposed to squash, set up everything fine. But then three VC come running, screaming like madmen. I investigated the way they had come, and found a ghost town."

"Casualties?"

"Three. I discovered them in one of the houses. Didn't look like any VC or marine work I had seen before. Their chests were…it was like their heart exploded out of their body. But, there were no wounds on the back. I had thought at first that they had been executed with a shotgun to the back, but there was no entrance wound. And no exit wounds, so, maybe they were forced to swallow a grenade. I heard the VC do that to traitors. But then there would be some damage to the back. Just makes no sense."

"That aside, did you find anything?"

"No sir. Other than that disturbing development, it seemed like the VC population moved on to somewhere else. Maybe they figured they were compromised, but I have no clue what could make three of them come running at us. They had to know this firebase was down the road, so even if we didn't hit them there, it was a dead end."

"No one ever accused the VC of being smart."

"They're not stupid either. Sir, I have to ask, is there some sort of bio weapon that's being tested in this area? I've seen a lot of things, but never a man's heart explode out of his chest like that. Or anything that could scare Charlie that bad to come running into the lion's den."

"If the Company was testing something, I wouldn't know about it anyway." The colonel rubbed his eyes. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"We all are sir," Bach said kindly.

The colonel shook his head. "Suppose Charlie is planning an offensive. What then? How many men do you think will fight?"

"Oh, they'll all fight, sir. All anyone wants to do is make it out of this god forsaken jungle alive. They won't go looking for the enemy, but if the enemy comes here, they'll fight tooth and nail. Can't say how much good they'll do, but we have at least a hundred bodies at this base. Slap an M-16 in their hand, and as long as it doesn't jam, they'll be able to kill a few bad guys."

"You really think so…"

"Yes I do," Bach said sharply, cutting off the colonel from using his given name. He was sure the colonel would, he always did, and it got annoying. Bach knew this rhythm to their conversations.

"I don't see why that bothers you so much. Just a name."

Bach sighed. "Try telling that to the Jew."

Colonel Scott tried to change the conversation. "If Charlie comes over the walls, you think Private Begin will fight?"

"As long as he can fight without helping me. He doesn't much like me, you know."

The colonel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Go out on patrol tomorrow, see what turns out."

"Yes sir," Bach said, saluting, before walking out of the underground base.


	2. Day Two

_**Day Two**_

The jungle was so hot. Bach couldn't tell if this was a heat wave, or what a heat wave was in Vietnam, but it felt even hotter than normal. They had to ration water. Supplies in the base were running low. They didn't have enough purification tablets to always go around, and no one was sure when they would receive additional supplies. The M60 weighed about twenty-four pounds, not counting ammunition. He had carried it day in, day out for three tours, but now It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. His helmet was hot, but he didn't want to be caught by a VC sniper. Not that they always targeted the helmet, or that the helmet always stopped a bullet, but he felt better with it.

Hours passed. Bach knew they were inching closer and closer to that ghost town. Perhaps not the best of ideas, inching closer to what had been a VC base. But there was something that didn't make sense to Bach. Something in his mind that screamed and shouted, and for the patrol, he decided to take the squad back the way he had ventured yesterday.

"Roger," he said, and the private came up next to him. "You got any cigarettes?"

Roger sighed, taking the pack out of the breast pocket of his vest. "I don't have many of these, sergeant."

"I'll pay you back," Bach muttered, greedily snatching up the pack. He took out one of the cigarettes and put it in his mouth, before lighting it with his Zippo. He took a long drag. "Heat is getting to me. I'm seeing things. Heat's rippling. I hate the heat."

Roger looked to him bitterly, obviously annoyed that his cigarettes had been taken. A petty reason to hate someone, to be sure, but Roger was a petty person. Before he was really thinking about the consequences, he had said; "Then go back to Deutschland, Adolph."

_Is it better to be feared, or respected?_ That was a question often asked, one that men could never answer with any certainty. The VC used fear. They booby trapped cartons of fruit, strapped children with explosives, dug holes and filled them with spears covered with human feces. The VC were winning the war. The writing was on the wall. The hippies in Washington were starting to sing too loud. Morons who thought they knew what war was, and thought they knew what was best because of a fat trust fund in their name. _A legacy of morons,_ Bach thought.

Bach liked to think he was level headed, but there was one thing he absolutely could not tolerate, and that was the name Roger had decided to use. Roger wasn't the most vocal of his dislike for the sergeant, but it was known. And Bach had been taking the men out on patrols more than usual, which had been causing dissent in the ranks. If Bach didn't do something, he would most likely find a grenade in his bed before the next sunset, because the men would perceive some hint of weakness in Bach, and they wouldn't be afraid of him anymore.

Bach turned to his side, so he was facing Roger. Clenching his fist, he swung, and hit Roger across the jaw. The blow sent Roger, who was not ready, stumbling back. As his side arm, Bach carried a .357 magnum instead of a pistol. That's what he drew and aimed at the others in the squad, who may have been thinking of intervening on Roger's behalf. But they stayed still and at a length. Bach leapt forward and kicked his boot across Roger's jaw. He stomped his heel onto Roger's chest, and then a boot onto the hand that was reaching for his pistol. Bach pulled the hammer of his revolver back, before lowering onto one knee. He was sure to drop his knee onto Roger's throat, which would keep him down and thrashing, even after Bach placed his revolver into Roger's mouth. "Call me Adolph again, and I break your teeth with a bullet. Do you understand?" Bach sighed, placing the revolver back into its holster, before taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

If there were any Viet Cong, they were certainly alerted to the screams that Roger let out as the hot ash touched his cheek.

Bach stood back up, hoisting his M60 to his arms. "We're moving, come on."

No one shot Bach in the back, even though he wouldn't see it coming. No one pulled a pin out of a grenade and casually tossed it in front of him to make it look like it was a VC ambush. No one even helped Roger walk. No one complained. No one did anything save follow Bach, deeper and deeper into the jungle.

For three hours, through the hottest part of the day, they walked, and they found nothing. Bach rubbed his eyes. What were they even looking for anymore? Just endless patrols until higher up the command got bored with Vietnam and decided to move onto other areas. That's when Bach would leave. He felt the pangs of loyalty that kept him in service to America, but only to this war, in this service. Then he would be done and go somewhere else. Change his name. He'd become Jerry Something.

Boredom caused the trained soldier's mind to wander. He didn't notice the odd sound, like the screeching of a snake, and kept walking. Then something pounced on Tedrow, who was third from the front. There was no sound in the pouncing, and if not for Tedrow's scream, Bach wouldn't have even noticed. But Tedrow's scream was sharp and faint, but there, and Bach turned, assuming that he had fallen into one of the trapped pits or something.

Instead, he was pinned beneath a monster. Skin of black steel and covered in spikes, the monster hissed and clawed at Tedrow, who lay there in babbling fear. No one moved, too frightened by the monster's sudden presence to do anything. Bach, too, froze for a long time. He had fought everything a man could throw at him, but this was not a man. This was, truly, a monster. Something of nightmares and darkness. What it did to Tedrow was monstrous. While a human would have strangled Tedrow, or a beast would have clawed or bitten, the monster brought Tedrow's head to its muzzle. It's jaws opened wide, and out of its throat came some sort of…Bach couldn't describe it. But Tedrow tensed, then lay still. The monster looked around and hissed.

Begin was first to attack. He threw himself forward, shouting, and was caught around the head in the monster's grip. The monster stood and lifted him up, threatening him with the same fate as Tedrow.

The M60 Bach carried could punch holes through a VC's torso and kill one or two men behind him. Bach did not know what this monster was, but he knew if he shot it, the bullets would go through it and into Begin. So instead he took the shotgun from the man beside him and shot the beast. He hurt it. It hissed and dropped Begin. Fluid spurted out of the wound, and Bach pumped the shotgun and fired again. This time, it's "blood" spurted out of the open wound and splashed onto Bach. Pain was sharp and sudden. He screamed, and stumbled back. The monster thrashed and twisted, knocking those close to him away as it turned to face Bach, who had taken his machete out of the sheath on his back. He swung it forward with all his might, just as the monster was leaning down. The sharp, strong blade broke through the monster's skull, and a sudden spray of the blood caught Bach unguarded.

Bach screamed. The monster's fluids had touched his arm and his face, and it burned like napalm. He foolishly tried wiping it away, but that just spread the horrible pain to his hands and arms. Someone, he hadn't a clue who, dosed him with water from canteens and dried him with dirt. He burned and ached, but at least it was washed away slightly. He tried to talk, but his voice would not come out. He could only manage weak babbles and gasps.

Then there was silence. Bach strained his ears or eyes to function, but his senses were dead to his will. He clenched his throat and tried to talk, but nothing came out.

"What do you want to do with him?" someone above him asked.

Begin squatted and put Bach's unburned hand around his neck. "Let's go," he said, as the platoon and started back to the base.

XXX

Bach stood before Colonel Scott. The monster's blood has cost him his left eye and most of the skin on the left side of his face. His left hand was burned almost to the bone. There were burns on his chest and on his thighs and hips, though the men of the squad had cut him out of his clothes before he was harmed too bad. He was bandaged as best could be with what resources they had at this base, but he was still ghastly to look at. Colonel Scott couldn't look at him. He looked at his table, he looked to his side, but he could not meet Bach's gaze without gagging.

"I have no idea what to report sir," Bach said, as if in a pained daze, and the damage to his face meant his voice was little more than a low gurgle. "It was a monster. Some sort of serpent perhaps. Black and shiny. It had a tail I think, and spikes on its back. I think. I honestly couldn't tell. It took two shots from the M12 and still was able to come at me. And its blood, I assume it was its blood. But…" Bach growled angrily, and stomped in front of the colonel. He gripped the man's chin and lifted his gaze. "You saw what it did to me."

The colonel wretched his head away. "Yes, Bach, I saw what it did. And no, I don't know what that thing was."

"We need reinforcements. That thing…I don't even know if I killed it or not."

"There won't be any reinforcements Bach. The radios are dead."

"What…?"

The colonel sighed. "It must have been one of the VCs. They snuck into the base, destroyed all our radios. I mean, all of em. And all of our equipment to repair the radios."

Bach had never been tempted to frag a superior, but at this moment, he found his hand inching towards the string of grenades on his belt. He was tempted, but didn't act on it. "So we are cut off, colonel?"

"Yes, sergeant. We're cut off."

"You are taking precautions?"

"Yes, sergeant. I am. There's a reason that I reached the rank of colonel. Flares, rations, water, and ammunition has been moved to a secure bunker. We're securing batteries and defenses, digging trenches, making some booby traps of our own. We may not know what Charlie is planning, but we are ready. Sergeant, I know you won't listen, but you should rest. Can you even see anymore?"

"I have no left eye, but God saw fit to give me a spare. And fortunately, my good eye was spared. Before you ask, my left hand isn't working either. But it's not like Charlie or the serpents are going to leave me alone just because I deserve a purple heart."

"For what it's worth sergeant…for what it's worth, Sergeant Bach, I am sorry. You should be on a chopper to a hospital, not stuck here."

"Shit happens," Bach muttered, before saluting and walking out of the bunker. He was in the hot sun for all of ten minutes before shouts and running of the men caught his attention. No longer would he serve as the platoon's heavy gunner. Now carried a shotgun. Though his good eye was intact, he lost a great deal of his peripheral vision. He hoped the wide spread of the shotgun would compensate.

The firebase was like any other. There was any number of makeshift cover, a few sniper towers, areas of no man's land and lots and lots of barbed wire. Bach didn't understand what the shouts and screams were. Something about a mass wave. And he was deeply afraid. Because some part of him thought that this mass wave might not be the VC.

Reaching the threshold of the no-man's land, Bach was relieved to see a mass of VC, about fifteen if he had to guess. They had their AK-47s above their head in a submissive fashion, one was brandishing a white flag, but there was no such thing as submission in this war. There was only deception, and death, and Bach had to wonder why the snipers didn't just shoot the fifteen of them there and then.

Colonel Scott was around there somewhere, because Bach heard someone talking on a megaphone. His shotgun would do nothing at this range. If he still had an M-16, he probably would have shot each of the fifteen down by now.

"Surrender your weapons," came the booming voice over the radios. "Pass through the path with your hands above your head. Do not make any hostile actions, or you will be shot."

One of the VC came forward, he was the one with the white flag. Bach tightened his grip on his shotgun, watching the guerrilla walk slow and careful. People backed away. They assumed he was strapped with enough dynamite to level the entire base, and they didn't want to be close. Bach stayed where he was. When Colonel Scott came forward to meet the VC, Bach wanted to hear what he had to say.

"What do you want Charlie?" the colonel asked. "You know I'm under orders to shoot every one of you. But we are not the monsters that the media may say, and I don't have the stomach to open fire when you come prancing up with a literal white flag."

The Viet Cong looked to Bach. "You have seen the monsters, too?" he asked. He spoke in English, though with an accent. But he was understandable, which was probably why he had been chosen to come forward. The weakness of losing his eye was annoying. Bach cocked his head to the side so he could better focus on the VC, and noticed several burns over his clothing, some on his left cheek, and one on his forehead that had to be self inflicted, judging by how perfect it was. "They come in the night. We have lost many to the serpents. They kill without warning or reason, and those that are not killed are taken away. We thought it was your work, Americans. We have done what we can to fight them, and you, but it is too much. But we have been given aid. Some sort of creature, some great hunter who was able to kill several of the monsters singlehandedly. He has requested our aid, and now requests your company."

"Colonel, you can't possibly believe this shit," Bach muttered. The colonel looked back to the sergeant. His expression explained the situation. Bach looked down to see a red light dotting his chest. He swallowed, tensing, then looked to the Viet Cong for some sort of explanation.

"You have defeated one of the serpents. You must come with us."

"Colonel?" Bach asked.

"Go with them Bach. Don't have many more options as to what to do."

"…Colonel…have the snipers shoot them, aim the artillery at the jungles and burn whatever sniper they have…"

"They wouldn't have come here without enough backup to level the base. We have no communications, barely any bullets…Go with them, _Adolph_. This is your only warning."

"God damn you, you son of a bitch," Bach muttered coldly. He pushed his shotgun to the colonel's chest, threw his knife and revolver to the ground, and walked forward, into the arms of the enemy.

XXX

Bach regretted not getting a canteen of water. He could say what he wanted about the Viet Cong, but their endurance far outmatched his own. Bach had heard that their training regimes consisted of three or four mile runs every morning just to start things off. By day they tended to their crops: hard, back breaking work that was never done. And then, by night they attacked US forces. It seemed like they were walking for hours through the blistering heat, and Bach was sweating and panting, mouth dry, throat tight. His burns were screaming and aching like he had never felt before. Every few minutes, the VC would speak in a language Bach didn't understand. They never used English.

Finally, they came to a town. The towns was like any other Vietnamese town, of course, it wasn't as if the guerrilla forces had a big sign that said, _Marines, Demolish This. _They hid with the innocent townspeople.

"Are we there yet?" Bach asked.

"In here," the VC who had spoken to him prior said. He opened a tarp, into the largest shack in the village. Bach walked in casually, and came face to face with…something that was not easily put into words. The serpent he had killed lay on the ground before him. He knew it was _his_ serpent by the wound across the skull, the wound which had cost Bach his hand. Bach tensed visibly at the sight of the ebony monster, and even after he registered yet another monster was in the tent with him, he could only focus on the serpent. He was sure that somehow the thing would spring back to life and finish him off, and he had relinquished all his weapons back at the firebase.

There was a sound. Something odd, like a vibrating click click click. That sound pulled Bach to the other creature. It was standing before him, arms crossed. By god, it was huge. Bach was not a small man. He was around six feet tall and well built. And Bach was barely eye to stomach with the thing. It was bare chested and lightly armored aside from that, some things on his belt or shoulder that Bach knew to be weapons, even if he didn't know what weapons they could possibly be. Not to mention, there was a spear within its massive arm's reach.

"I suppose I should be scared," Bach muttered. He swallowed. "And I really am. But I've seen enough to keep an open mind. And I assume that you're the one who Charlie was talking about, the great hunter?" Bach craned his head up and looked into the hunter's face. It had what appeared to be a mask, though for all Bach knew, that was its real face. How could he really tell? At first look the serpent seemed to be wearing armor, but that was its skin. When the hunter lifted a hand and used a long finger to release a pressurized hold, and the mask came off, it was clear it was indeed a mask. It was some sort of monster, like the serpent, but at least this one didn't seem as feral.

The hunter squatted over the corpse of the serpent and took up one of its hands. He gripped a finger, and bending it back like one might crack off a lobster's claw, removed the finger. Bach tensed when the hunter approached him. Either through fear or not wanting to show weakness in front of this monster, he didn't move, even as the hunter reached out and took him rather roughly around the arm. Bach looked up. There was an odd scar on the hunter's forehead, just like the one that the VC wore proudly. Bach swallowed. "Just like dad had then…"


	3. Day Three

_**Day Three**_

It was dawn when Bach walked through the No Man's Land, back into the firebase, thirty or so VC in tow. He earned the attention of the snipers and the heavy gunners, but they held their fire. Never the less, he could feel the sights on him. Colonel Scott was there, at the front, and first to meet Bach. Bach gave him a low look.

"What's going on?" the colonel asked. No formalities, no extra words. He handed Bach the shotgun, revolver, and knife.

Bach sighed. "Those serpents. Those things that I put in my report." He gave a dark chuckle. "There's more of them."

"How can you know that?"

"That hunter Charlie was talking about. It hunts them. It came here to kill them all, but there are more than he anticipated. So he outsourced his labor. He's out there, riling the serpents up. He's going to lead them back here, where we can exterminate the monsters. We have until dusk."

Scott stared at the sergeant, finally shaking his head. "Did Charlie brainwash you in a night or something?"

"Colonel, you've always treated me level, and that has meant a lot to me. But you weren't there to see that…thing kill Tedrow. You didn't even see its corpse, so you don't understand what I saw, what Begin saw, what the whole platoon saw. But you can see me." Bach lifted his mutilated left hand and rested it beside his face. The colonel tried to look away. "This isn't something I would lie about. The VC are scared to death, hell, so am I. And from what I could understand from the hunter, there are a lot of those things. They'll devour this whole country, and then move in to the rest of Asia, then into Europe. They'll get on the boats of refuges and find their way into America. This is the Domino Theory. We have to prepare the base. We have to dig in deep. The men won't listen to me, but they'll listen to you. Please, trust me."

The colonel sighed. "Dusk?"

"From what the VC tell me, they prefer to come at night."

"Can Charlie be trusted."

Bach looked over his shoulder at the men he had come with. "The enemy of my enemy…"

"Is still my enemy."

"If this is half as bad as the hunter says, none of us are going to make it out of this alive. But this isn't about us. Like I said, we stop the dominos from falling. That's all. The VC are fighting for their country."

The colonel sighed, and headed back into the base. A hand gesture sent the sharpshooters and the heavy gunners to a neutral position. "You know this might all be part of Charlie's trap, Bach."

"If only…"

XXX

It went better than Bach would have thought. Amazingly, most of the soldiers would rather dig trenches with Charlie than shoot him, because Charlie tended to shoot back. No one believed Bach when he told them about the serpents, and they didn't care much how he got his burns and scars. They didn't care why Charlie was here now, working with them. Honestly, Bach wouldn't have minded if the serpents wanted to come in and rip a few of them apart. Do the world a favor. Bach chuckled to himself, he really was becoming a monster.

He was in the trenches, digging. Each trench was six feet deep and about twenty feet wide. After the trenches were all dug, the soldiers would fill them with stakes and barbed wire, then set the trenches on fire at dusk. Hopefully, those would kill some of the serpents, but more importantly, it would take time for the serpents to climb out of the trenches and continue to the base. From what the VC and the hunter had said, quite a few towns had been taken over by the serpents. The hunter had done what he could, but it was clear they could spread faster than he could kill them.

Bach didn't mind. He was being used, he knew. This time it was just by an alien. Just what the alien was, or why it had come to earth, Bach did wonder. Something that big and that downright demonic was not some benevolent savior from beyond the stars. For all he knew, that thing had brought the serpents and the serpents had escaped, and now humans had to clean up the hunter's mess. Didn't matter.

Bach stopped digging. One of the VC was squatting beside the trench, watching him. They had been taking turns so that when the serpents came, no one would be too fatigued. The trench was deep. To get out, he accepted the aid of the VC soldier. Bach turned and sat down on the trench's side. Searching his pockets, he failed to find any cigarettes. The VC offered one however, something hand rolled, and Bach took it, lighting it with his Zippo. "Thanks Charlie." Bach paused, looking to him. "Can you speak English?"

"Some," came the simple response.

"What's your name?"

"Tuan."

"Nice to meet you, Tuan. I'm Bach. I guess from your forehead you killed one of the serpents? Do you have any idea what they are?"

Tuan shook his head. "Do you expect me to recite some pagan legend about them?"

Bach sighed. "Just making small talk." Bach looked to the sky, trying to measure how long before dusk. "Let's get these trenches done."

XXX

They did not dig all the trenches by the time twilight fell, and it was more important to have everyone in a center location rather than try to fight time and dig deeper. The hunter would be herding the monsters here soon. Maybe he would use pheromones. Maybe he would kill a couple then come running to the base. It didn't matter how they got here. Just as long as they came.

Bach swallowed a lump in his throat, watching the distant trees. The night tonight was as hot as any day. He wanted to take a drink from his canteen, but that would require taking his eye off the horizon for even a few moments, and that was not something he would allow. He was using an M-16. Even with his poor depth perception and blind side, he was fairly certain he could manage to hit a few of the beasts. Then he could pick up his shotgun, which was lying beside him. But there were the two hundred GIs here, plus the thirty VCs. Bach sighed. How many of the serpents could there be? Bach wasn't one to underestimate his enemy, but honestly, they had the guns, they had the man power, and they had the traps. That serpent he attacked wasn't tactical or intelligent. It was just an animal.

He saw a distant flicker through the trees. He lifted his M-16 to his eye, taking a soft breath. "Sappers in the wire," shouted someone. Oh how Bach wished these were sappers.

"Get the illumination up!" Scott shouted. "Flares up. Get the fucking flares up!"

Bach sparked his lighter several times, finally getting the flame to glow. He light a Molotov cocktail beside him, before throwing it at the trench with all his might. The flammable fluid that lined the trench caught fire, and began to spread quickly. Bach looked up to see the glowing ball of flare, the slightly blue hued shine in the darkness of the night, rise and rise into the air before exploding, and giving as much light as the sun would have if it were up. Bach had assumed there would be twenty or thirty serpents, which would have been a problem, to be sure. Just one could have taken out his entire platoon. Bach assumed, at most, there would be around a fifty. The serpents had devoured a few Vietnamese villages. They would have numbers. But Bach hoped a majority of the serpents could be cut down by the trenches, wire, gunfire, grenades, and those who got into the base proper would kill many men, but would be killed by the men that remained. Even if it took the base, those monsters wouldn't make it. Bach understood sacrifice. Every soldier did. A soldier died for the greater good.

The illumination glowed high in the sky, showing how many serpents there were. More than a hundred, many more. The trenches slowed by a handful down, the others just climbed over their fallen and swarmed closer and closer. The flurry of fat 7.62x51 and 5.56x45 bullets, ripping the serpents to shreds.

VC weren't animals. They swarmed, but there was a disturbing intelligence to their attacks, there was organization, even if they had to sacrifice great numbers, there was always strategy. With the serpents, there was no strategy. There was just an endless wave of needle teeth and sickle tails. There thousands pouring forward. And not just the ones Bach had seen before. There were ones that charged on all fours like they were some sort of hellish hound, snarling and spitting foul breath and drool. Bach lifted his M-16 to his eye and opened fire, as did the men around him. There was no pause in the gunfire, there was no need. They emptied their clips, and reloaded, and emptied, and reloaded. "Hold the fucking line. Hold the line. Don't lose it, or I'll shoot you myself."

There was no break in the serpent's assault. Just an endless swarm. Weapons were running so hot they began to fall apart in the user's hand and burn the soldier's gloves. And wills were being broken. These serpents just had no desire to live. They willingly threw themselves into the line of fire, and when some fell with a hundred bullets in their chest, another crawled over the corpse. The whole time, the serpents did nothing but hiss and screech something awful. If the men were going to die, for whatever reason, they would rather die with their back to the enemy. So many died like that. So many were stabbed through the back with those scythe tails, or impaled by the protruding jaw.

"Bach," said Begin coming beside him. "Left flank is dead. I told you we couldn't trust Charlie."

"Charlie's not the problem," Bach muttered lowly. The problem was that fighting these serpents was like fighting a force of nature. There was just so many of them. And while any human enemy could be expected to slow down to take cover, avoid gunfire, or show some sign of self-preservation, the serpents had no sense of that. They just kept charging and snarling.

"Where's Scott?" Bach asked.

"Shot himself in the head," Begin said. "That's why I'm talking to you. You're in charge."

Back looked to the endless swarm of serpents, then to Begin. "Run and shoot. Reach the control center. We can funnel them in, and mow them down."

"Or leave us with no place to retreat," Begin said.

"We're not retreating," Bach shouted. "We're not going to live through this night. All we've got is killing as many of these monsters as we can." Bach slung his M-16 over his shoulder and took the grenades off his belt. Pulling the pin of one with his teeth, he threw it with all his might into the approaching swarm of serpents, before ducking into the trench as it exploded.

Then Bach ran. The grenades had caused the serpents to disperse for perhaps a moment, but now they had resumed their bloodthirsty swarm. Every part of Bach ached, but his face was throbbing like he could never have guessed. Maybe he had gotten splashed by the serpent's blood again, because it felt so new. And since he couldn't see out of his left side, it was easy for one of the serpents to tackle him. He hit the ground hard, and the serpent landed on top of him. Instinctively, he twisted, trying to knock the serpent in the jaw, but the jaw instead met Bach's elbow. There was a snapping pain, and Bach screamed. A moment later, Begin had kicked the serpent off Bach, and finished it off with a quick burst from his M-16.

Bach got to his feet. His left arm had been burned by the acid. Now his right elbow had been torn into and cracked. He could still lift it, if he ignored the lightning of pain that ran through him. He took the M-16 off his back and lifted it, keeping it steady with what was left of his left arm, and fired at the serpents. There was no end to them though. He backed away, firing, but his balance was weak and he ended up falling. And when a serpent pounced on him, he took the entrenching tool off his belt and swung, just as the serpent's second jaw was sliding out of its teeth. The blade caught the extended second jaw, and it snapped away. Getting to his feet and twisting, he swung again, the blade catching another of the serpents, smashing the front of its head.

Begin came beside him, and took Bach by the arm. Bach was actually pulled off balance, but braced himself against Begin before he could hit the ground. Where Begin had retrieved a second assault rifle, Bach wasn't sure, but the next thing he knew he was holding a well beaten AK-47, the grip still slicked with the blood of its prior owner. Side by side, Begin and Bach retreated into the bunker, where the stockpile of weapons were waiting.

XXX

"Jesus, what happened here? Nape?"

"Wasn't nape. Nape doesn't…nape burns. This is like…well, like nothing I've ever seen before."

The major looked out over the barren wasteland that had once been a base. "When did we lose contact?"

"Two days ago. We figured it was just interference or something. You know how much wear and tear we deal with."

The major squatted down, stroking the barren earth. Taking a handful of soil, he lifted it to his eye and played with it between his fingers. "What could this be? Some kind of strong base maybe. There's bits of muck in the soil. It's like…where are-"

"We got a survivor!" the private screamed, running forward towards what was left of a razed bunker. The major lifted his gaze to see a lone man stumbling out, into the light. The private slowed down as he came closer, and when he was still ten steps from the man, he retched to his side and vomited sticky muck upon the ground. The major, as well as others, were coming closer. Some managed to hold their bile back, but only one could stand not to look away.

"Name and rank, soldier," the major said. He swallowed his bile and looked to the horrific scars over the man's face and. "Soldier?"

The man looked forward through his right eye, the left side of his face was hideously scarred and there was clearly no flesh in the socket. He looked forward, as if baffled by the men that now stood before him. "We need immediate evac," the major said into his radio.

"My name is…" the scarred man said, looking down to the ghastly bone that had once been a left hand, then continuing to look down at his tattered uniform. Aside from pants, there was not much left. He had torn himself out of his shirt when some of the acidic blood splashed him. He realized his right hand was still clenching the AK-47, even after all this time. He dropped it, and watched it fall at his feet. His hand traced up his face, growling lowly at the burns on his face, feeling the scar on his forehead, and the shreds of hair on his head.

"My name is…" he said again, before collapsing forward. The major managed to catch him before he hit the ground, and supported him. Taking one arm around his shoulders, the major aided him in walking. "My name is…" the scarred man kept saying. His voice was gurlging and weak. Considering he was missing most of the flesh on the left side of his face, it was a miracle he could talk at all. "My name is…Private Ishmael Begin."


End file.
